poem for Chicago

by jhon baker

for Carl, of course

I was gong to write about my city,barely to the eastan obstruction between Elginand the lakebut what is to capture thatCarl did notstill the cunning, deviousand proud mother, it isstill wicked, cruel andbrutal.beautiful, butno longer the hog butcher,tool maker, orstacker of wheat/still having gladhanded politicianspainted women and free killers.tho, it’s beautiful and the people who bent and bend so fartwisted so muchnow nearly inhumanstanding erect and/orcollapsed neatly street sideor on park benchesthey are the truebeauty of the city,reflected against thefar reaches of glassbuildings or deeperthrough the brokenwindows of public housing.so , sorry Carl, yourpoem is still neatly perfect,it still is as we seeour city,proud, tall with incredibleweight on our ever broadeningshoulders.as a side note to Nelson,if you be in Heaven with Carl,yes yes yes, we arestill on the make.